Flashing Lights
by Liliththestormgoddess
Summary: While on a routine case, Hannibal's plan doesn't go exactly as he had hoped. One member of the team is injured, and someone's life is changed forever.


Warnings: Mild violence

Summary: While on a routine case, Hannibal's plan doesn't go exactly as he had hoped. One member of the team is injured, and someone's life is changed forever.

A/N: Not quite sure how this plot came about. One moment it was just there, in my head. Its a different idea, straying from my usual style.

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team. I'm just borrowing, don't worry, I will return them. :)

Flashing Lights

by Liliththestormgoddess

I really don't know how it happened. The whole thing was just one awful blur. I want to say it wasn't my fault, that I didn't contribute to any of it; but that would be a lie. I cannot lie to myself.

The older couple in our neighbourhood called them, I'm sure. Four guys called in to put a stop to us. I'm sure they thought it would be an easy job. Hey, even I thought it would be easy. A group of kids against four grown men with guns, and the obvious smarts to use them. Pretty frightening too. Except we had the guns too. And maybe not knowing how to use them made us more dangerous.

The older man of the group, the one who was obviously in charge, threatened us to stop our troublemaking. We would roam the streets at night with guns, acting like we owned the place. The man threatened to bring in the authorities, or bring us to the authorities. Jeremy laughed at that. His father was the sheriff, and did not suspect his angel of a son to be apart of a gang. He would get off free. He promised to keep all of us out of the slammer too, but I knew that was a lie. We would take the fall for him. He wasn't scared; I was terrified. I was ready to put my gun down and high tail it out of there. But Jeremy would never let that happen. He'd hunt me down, or worse, hunt my family.

So, I stood there like the coward I was, and said nothing, while gripping the barrel of my gun tightly.

They would come back, he said. We would decide then if we still didn't want to turn ourselves in.

And they came back. As we finished our last patrol that night, near the outskirts of the town, we settled in the abandoned barn on the fields, talking and waiting. Half of us expected the men to come back, half did not believe they were serious in their threats. I nearly felt sick to my stomach; I knew they were not lying.

The silver-haired man and the large black man showed up. They entered the barn, seemingly unafraid, even with all our guns pointed at them. Again, they asked us to disband. Again, we said no.

And here is where it gets fuzzy.

I remember Stephan jumping forward, his gun raised, and all the boys surge forwards. It was the battle cry. We never used our guns. Half of us didn't even know how. When we got them, they were just handed to us, not a word spoken on how to use them, not even how to keep them clean. I only ever used mine to hit people with; I would never fire it.

But something happened; something went wrong, and I'll never forget it.

A shot was fired off. I saw the muzzle flash from my right: it was Chip, stupid, arrogant Chip.

I watched in horror as more of the boys began firing, and then as the men returned fire. The other two men appeared in the entrance of the barn, providing cover for their friends. The one stepped out from the doorway to aid his friend, and stumbled back from a hit.

The other man turned abruptly towards us, anger apparent in his eyes. He sprayed a line of gunfire at our feet, hoping to keep us at bay.

Henry tackled me from the side, just as bullets streamed over our heads. Chaos controlled us now. As we rolled to a stop, I heard the man yell, "Drop your weapons!" I gladly released mine. Henry was a little more reluctant, until the large man came over and yanked it from his hands.

"Against the wall. All of you," he growled, waving his gun threateningly.

When we were pressed to the wall, the silver haired man said to the one guarding us: "Watch them," then proceeded to run to the other end of the barn, where his injured man was, along with his other man.

I saw the man in the cap and the leader converse in quiet tones and try to apply quick medical first aid. I cowered in the corner, wondering about the damage. I hadn't wanted it to be like this; it wasn't supposed to be like this. I never liked it when people got hurt.

"I need a first aid kit, BA," the leader called from the other end, without even bothering to turn around. "And a flash light."

"There," squeaked Simon, pointing his small hand towards the wall directly beside him, where an old first aid kit was mounted. The man, who'd been called BA, gestured with his gun.

"Bring it here."

He quickly obliged. He unhooked it from the wall, and grabbed the small, rusted flashlight from the shelf next to it. He clicked it on and off, to make sure it still worked, and dashed over to hand it to the man. Just as he stepped back to the wall, the man called again, "And I need someone with steady hands."

Our guard, realising the two men needed another hand, and he was busy guarding us and couldn't leave us, looked us over, trying to decide on a volunteer. Henry shoved me forward. "Joshua here has the steadiest hands ever," he claimed, as I stumbled forwards in the dirt.

Jeremy joined in, glad that I was being picked and not him. "Yeah, Joshua's steady alright. Ain't you ever seen 'im pick a pocket?" He laughed. "Best I seen yet."

I didn't even have the courage to tell him off. The black man shoved the supplies at me, and told me to make my way over to the men, "on the double".

I did so gladly, even jogging over to the men. The scene I saw before me would never leave my memory, for as long as I live.

First, I saw the blood. On the floor, on the men, and on the shirts and clothes clustered around them. Then I saw the man laying on the floor, the one that one of us had shot. The most striking thing I noticed about him was that he was young. _Too young to die_, I thought, while guilt rocked in my stomach. The lanky man in the cap was talking softly to him, but I'm not sure he heard any of it. From what I could see in the little light, his fists were clenched at his sides, and his face was screwed up tight, eyes shut tight.

The leader looked up as I hurried over, and I saw the blood that covered his hands. I almost recoiled, but I never faltered. I shoved the supplies in his hands, and he rifled through them quickly, obviously knowing what he was looking for. The other man looked over at me, somewhat suspiciously. I hoped he knew that I wasn't the one who had shot his friend, even though I felt responsible for it. From the look he was shooting the silver-haired man, I'm sure he thought my being there was a bad idea. After all, I was one of the bad guys.

"Shine that light right there, son," the older man said, his voice soft, but the steel in his tone told me that there would be hell to pay if I didn't obey. "And keep it nice and steady." His eyes bore into mine, searching for something there that I couldn't understand.

The very thought that he trusted me to do even that simple of a task made me want to hold it even more still than was humanly possible. I wanted to help this man all that I could, because I felt so responsible for it. I wanted to show them that not all of us were cold hearted.

Without any objection or delay, I knelt down next to the figure on the floor, held the flashlight at chest level, and flicked the switch. I shone it directly above the wound on the man, lying on the straw. It brought the whole scene into a whole new perspective.

His leg was now totally visible, and I saw that the bullet had penetrated the upper thigh of his left leg. His friends had propped his feet up on bales of hay, while the upper half of his body lay angled downwards.

"We have to control the bleeding, Murdock, before we take him anywhere," stated the older man, as he handed him tools and cloths. The other man, Murdock, nodded, his face a mask of seriousness. And they set to work, cleaning and bandaging the wound, to keep an infection at bay before they could get him to proper help.

I never let my hands shake or waver. That beam of light was steady as they worked. What Jeremy said had been true; part of my successful initiation into the gang had been my skills as a pickpocket, and my steady hands benefited me even now. Sometimes I even passed a tool or towel to the men, anticipating their next moves. Neither said a word to me, but it was better that way. My heart never slowed down, and I couldn't calm the fear that was flowing through me.

The injured man lay through it all, occasionally letting a few groans or moans escape from his clenched teeth. He didn't open his eyes, but I thought it better that way, so as he didn't have to see the damage done to his leg.

When I realized that they were about finished dressing the wound as best they could, I found my voice and dared to ask the question I'd been wondering the whole time: "Is he going to be ok?"

The one in the cap, Murdock, looked up at me, long and hard, and a slight smile came to his face. His features were shadowed in the beam of the flashlight, but I saw exhaustion and tension written all over his face. "He'll be fine. Faceman's a tough guy. Take more than this to kill him."

The man in question groaned, and opened his bleary eyes to focus slowly on his friend. "You're talking about me like I'm not here, Murdock," he spoke sarcastically, but a grin snaked on his features, before being replaced by a scowl as he received a jolt of pain. "Hannibal, let's get out of here," he moaned.

The leader of the group, Hannibal, as he was called, chuckled. "Sure thing, kid. We need to get you to a hospital." He tossed a set of keys to Murdock. "Go get the van, pull it round to the front."

As Murdock dashed out of the barn, Hannibal leaned down to grasp one of the injured man's arms. He tightly gripped his forearm, and hauled him up on unsteady legs. As he tried to drape his arm over his own shoulder for easier transportation, the man's legs gave out, and he started to tumble to the side.

In my dash to grab the falling man, I dropped the flashlight to the barn floor, and the light rolled off, illuminating a dark corner. I grasped Faceman's (_what kind of name was that?_ I thought) left arm, keeping him upright and from falling to the floor. Together, Hannibal and I kept him steady, held between the two of us. We made our way to the barn door, shuffling slowly, but surely. As we stepped out into the quiet, star strewn night, the roar of an engine broke the silence. A large black van with an odd red stripe careened around the corner, and screeched to a stop in front of us. Out of the driver's side door jumped out Murdock, and he hauled open the sliding back door for us.

The three of us managed to get the blond in the back of the van, on the floor where he sat for a few moments with his head resting on the seat, taking slow, deep breaths. However, his eyes were now open, taking in the scene before him, with a blank expression. At one point, his eyes roamed over me, taking in my dirty, dishevelled appearance. I wondered what a sight I must be, covered in a mix of dirt and blood.

Hannibal looked back towards the barn doors. "BA should be getting out soon," he said to his men. Murdock had now jumped into the back of the van too, next to his friend. I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there, dumbly, next to the leader, who had pulled out a cigar and began smoking it. A part of me wanted to just run off right then and there, but another part of me wanted to make sure that these men made it out, safe and headed for a hospital.

The man smoking the cigar turned towards me, his steel blue eyes piercing my courageous reserves. "What's your name, son?"

"J-Joshua," I stammered.

He nodded, continuing to observe me. He nodded his head back towards the van. "Thanks," was what he said next. I understood what he was saying. I nodded.

Just then, the big black man, by the name of BA, dashed out of the barn. He closed the doors behind him and bolted it shut, slipping a long piece of wood that was lying against the barn, in the handles. This effectively held the barn shut.

He jogged over to us, his eyes on me the whole time. I was terrified of this man. He held his gun in front of him, but he didn't seem prepared to use it, or even point it at someone. I guessed it was for any unpleasant surprises.

He came to a stop in our little circle, and peered into the van. "Face ok?" he asked. Face smiled out at him, and gave a little mock salute.

"Just fine, BA. After all, this is how I planned to spend my night." Hannibal grinned, apparently this joking matter of his was normal, and he was relieved to hear that there would be no lasting damage.

BA turned to me, and his stare caught me off guard. His eyes held a soft expression, and he seemed more likely to pat me on the back then sock me one right there. He took in my bloodstained clothes, then growled, "What'ch you doin' with a group like 'em, little brotha?"

I shrugged, grappling for words. "In this small town, it's eat, or be eaten." I looked into his eyes, pleading him to understand. "You have to understand just how much control they have in this town." I felt a certain fear in what I was about to tell them; I'd told no one about it before, but I felt the need to. "When we first moved in, they shot my pa, because he chased them off our property." I shuddered. "They don't like rules, and they don't like being told what to do. Worse, they have guns, so no one dares tell them what to do. So I joined them. That way, they don't touch my little sister or my ma. Our families are safe."

I waited. The men were listening closely, and nodding slowly. I could tell they understood my predicament. Hannibal then asked, "And what about the authorities?"

"Jeremy's dad is the sheriff. If he even gets wind of what we do – which isn't often, because Jeremy manages to keep it all hidden – he thinks our town is being attacked by a neighbouring gang."

"Don't you consider leaving?" He let out a puff of his cigar, the smoke billowing around us. He reminded me then, so much of my pa.

"If we had the money, sir, we would have been gone long ago."

BA's face darkened. He spun towards Face. They communicated silently, without even saying anything. Face jerked his head to the left. "Left pocket, Murdock." Murdock reached into his left jacket pocket, and pulled out a crisp white envelope. From it he withdrew a stack of green bills, and I found my mouth dropping at the sight of so much money. BA snatched the cash, and pulled out a small quarter of the stack, shoving it into my hand.

I gaped at the money in my hand. The bill on top was a hundred. I was almost scared to glance at the rest of it.

"Get you and your family outta here," he growled. He looked sincerely concerned. "You don' belong wit them."

Nodding, while slightly dazed, I stuffed the bills in my jeans pocket. Rest assured, by morning, my family and I would be long gone.

Hannibal nodded, pleased. He then proceeded to climb into the van, and BA ran to the driver's side. The sliding door was slid shut. From behind, there was a great pounding from the barn door, the sound of several bodies slamming their weight into it. It wouldn't be long before they broke through.

The car was thrown into first, but I jumped to the passenger's window, suddenly remembering what we'd done last night. "Wait!" I cried, and Hannibal looked out at me. "Don't take the main road, on the right. We put a barrier there the other night. Take the left path here," I pointed, "And then a right. You should be able to get back onto the main road from there, and find the local hospital."

Hannibal nodded. "Thanks kid. And it would be best if you laid face down on the ground." He winked. "Don't want them thinking you helped us."

I nodded, dropping to the dirt, as a gun went off in the barn, splintering the wood.

"Take care o' yourself," came BA's reply from the driver's seat, before they peeled away.

As I predicted, it didn't take long for the boys to break out of the barn. They dashed over to where I lay, facedown in the mud. They hauled me up, asked me what they'd done to me, and what they'd made me do. I told them they'd had their guns pointed at me, and had forced me to help them get out. The boys around me shivered in fear as I told them that they were serious about shooting me, and had promised to be back, with evidence and reinforcements.

Jeremy didn't look so confident then. As soon as the police sirens pierced the air, we ran for it, each back to our homes. I don't know how I made it; I was shaking all over. The boys hadn't discovered the cash in my pocket, and I didn't intend to see them again. As soon as I got home, I packed my sister's and my suitcases, and told my ma we were leaving. We had what little possessions we possessed packed in our rusty car by dawn, and drove out before breakfast.

We ate a grand breakfast three hours later, when we were safely out of town. It was the best breakfast we'd had in a long time, and I delighted in seeing the biggest smile cross my four-year-old sister's face.

By nightfall that same night, we'd gone as far as we thought was safe. We were in a nice section of the city of Los Angeles, somewhere I'd long dreamed of seeing. We rented a small apartment, and our lives started over.

My ma never really questioned where I'd gotten the money. I had just told her some nice men had given it to me, and that was it.

Two weeks after, I heard that the gang related mischief in our old town had come to a stop. Maybe reality had settled in for Jeremy.

Even months later, as we were settled in, the events of that night were still so clear in my mind. I knew that I would never forget what it was like to face your fears, and jump the obstacles life gave you. I learned how to stare into the face of danger, and do what I had to do, even if I was scared to do it. I learned that family comes first, and doing your duty comes before your own needs.

I learned that four misfit men could change your life forever, and hand you the life lessons to do it.

I would forever be thankful to them; without them I'd probably be still stuck in that old hick town, running around with Jeremy, making people's lives miserable. I'd still be looking over my shoulder, fearing one day they'd turn on me, or my family.

Just yesterday, I took Stacy to the grocery store, to buy a few items, and candy for the two of us to share. As I let her pick out what she wanted, I turned to look at the cash lines. I saw a tall blond man standing there, paying. As if sensing my stare, he turned and I nearly gasped with recognition. It was the injured man, the one they called Face, and he was as healthy as could be, walking of his own accord. He shot me a smile, and finished paying.

When I had finished paying for our small items, I walked briskly into the parking lot, looking in vain for a glimpse of that black van. I knew it was hopeless, but I kind of wanted to see these men again, the ones who I was almost sure I would never see again. The one's who'd given us our lives back.

I heard a squeal of tires, and spun around to see the last glimpse of a black van fishtail it out of the parking lot. Stacy shrieked at the loud sound, and grabbed onto my legs. I patted her head, smiling widely. It was them for sure, and I felt a certain satisfying feeling, knowing that they were all right, and that we were alright.

Grabbing Stacy's hand, we crossed the road and headed back home, to deliver our fresh groceries.


End file.
